


physical exertion is a great way to settle frustrations

by zappactionsdower



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, PWP, challenge - sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:34:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22797127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zappactionsdower/pseuds/zappactionsdower
Summary: Beneath the table, he reaches down to gently touch Felix's knee.His hand is slapped away.Ah.His Duke is in that mood.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 2
Kudos: 73
Collections: Dimlix Week 2020





	physical exertion is a great way to settle frustrations

“Your _opinion_ , Count Numa,” Felix Hugo Fraldarius positively sneers, “is worth as much to us as your ability to dress yourself without looking like an overstuffed pheasant.”

Count Numa, unsurprisingly, blusters indignantly as the other lords in the enclosed room try very hard not to snicker as they awkwardly shuffle the papers in front of them.

Dimitri hastily covers his mouth, feigning a hiccup. He is certain he has been found out though, as the Duke's gaze is solely fixed on him; as though it is _Dimitri's_ fault for allowing such a farce to begin with.

Felix is irritable today.

Well, perhaps the better word is _caged_. There is only so long the Right Hand of the King can be contained before he starts getting moody and vicious because Felix is not one to sit still and enjoy idle chatter during boring meetings about borders and trade policies and all the false niceties that come from diplomacy.

Dimitri can relate, perhaps a little too well. The _itch_ beneath your skin, the call of a (relatively) warm spring day, the need to stretch and do something that gets _results_.

Still. These are important meetings, and Felix's wisdom and perspective are as necessary as ever.

“As harsh as Duke Fraldarius's words are,” he catches the imperious stare he receives from the corner of his eye, “There is no need to complicate discussions about whether there are _right or wrong_ Almyrans. I have asked you here to consider the issues about immediate trade concerns, not whether you personally support my peace treaty that has already been signed and notarized. If you do not wish to deal with Almyran merchants, there is no reason to be trying to acquire their goods.”

Beneath the table, he reaches down to gently touch Felix's knee.

His hand is slapped away.

Ah.

His Duke is in _that_ mood.

Dimitri dismisses the meeting in favor of a late luncheon. House Gloucester has brought in the best cooks in the area, all who are looking to expand their notoriety in hopes of furthering their own businesses. Dimitri has never really taken to seafood, especially as the texture is nothing like Faerghus meat, but the care put into the presentation the past few days has indeed been impressive.

Still. He has other things to attend to and Dimitri prefers to eat with a close group than a large swarm of people who spend more time attempting to impress him than giving compliments to those who had spent so many hours preparing food for them. It also allowed him some time to speak personally with the cooks and servants, without pretense later, should they not faint from shock first. (Dimitri still has to work on that, really...)

Dimitri reaches out, gently brushing his fingers along Felix's shoulder. His Duke raises an elegant eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

“Eat lunch with me?”

“I'm not hungry.” Felix counters, looking away towards the window. “We should be done with this by now, if you would better control those fools.”

Time for a new approach, then.

“Very well.” Dimitri trails his fingers down, hesitating before he curls his gloved fingers loose around Felix's wrist. “Shall we go to the training grounds instead? Perhaps later this evening?”

Felix's attention perks, even if he still does not look at Dimitri directly. “What are you playing at, Dimitri? You have _duties_ here.” How very like Felix, to be concerned about _Dimitri's_ duties while simultaneously decrying the whole concept.

“I must admit to being restless myself.” Dimitri offers a smile, or hopefully a passable one, as he lets go. “Tonight? After dinner?”

Felix shifts his jaw, just once. “After dinner.”

Derdriu is warm and humid; different in every way than the cold, solid state of Fhirdiad. No matter where Dimitri is, he can smell the sea and almost – _almost –_ taste salt with it.

Felix is waiting for him in a private training area hidden behind one of the barracks that house up-and-coming soldiers. With the war over and Almyran invasion not nearly as immediate a threat, it's mostly used for sport, and many of the former soldiers have instead turned their attention to more mercantile activities.

His Duke is dressed down, wearing a thin shirt and a thick, padded vest. But he has his boots on, and his hair is tied back in a fierce bun that matches his current temperament.

“You're late.”

“Apologies. I had received a letter from Claude that needed my attention.” Dimitri begins to unbutton his outer tunic – it was a wonder that he had been able to wear it the whole day as it was. Next is his inside vest, a complicated thing with golden-thread lions that he is certain always looked more impressive on his father than himself.

Still, he glances over at Felix and watches his Duke's throat bob as Dimitri begins to untie the plain white shirt underneath all the finery. His gloved thumb presses against the 'v' of his throat, just for a moment, and Felix's teeth clench.

Last are the boots, carefully polished and blackened but ultimately only for presentation. Not like the comfortable, worn pair he wears that Dedue gifted him several moons ago.

He slides his socks off, letting his hand rest momentarily against his calf, and looks down at his toes, testing the ground. It's mostly sand, and it actually feels relatively good.

“Are you trying to waste my time, Brute?” Felix clicks his tongue and crosses his arms, but he definitely looks away from Dimitri again.

“No.” Dimitri stretches his arms above his head, then curves his back, relieved to feel actual air flowing through his fabric. “Are you not a little too warm here as well?”

“Just... do something with yourself. Something _useful_.” Felix keeps his back to Dimitri and sorts through a small cache of training weapons. He pulls out an iron spear with the tip blunted with several layers of fur, and a cloth-wrapped sword.

Dimitri catches the spear as it is tossed towards him. The weight is balanced enough, and he tests it with a few swipes and jabs. In front of him, Felix is already in form, waiting for him. Felix is always waiting for him, Dimitri supposes.

He steps in front of a center circle, just a few feet away. His spear is handled low, waiting for Felix to try and invade his space.

Felix darts forward, swinging his sword wide in an arc. Dimitri swats him away easily, but this is merely pretense, as the Duke immediately follows the attack up with two clever strikes.

“If Claude is in contact with you,” _clack! clack!_ “then why isn't he _here_?”

Dimitri keeps his blocks quick, moving only insomuch as he must. Felix is _clever_ , and he knows better than to give anything away this early.

“I have never been able to read Claude, I must admit. But... he is looking into something that is in our mutual interests.” He shifts his grip, cracking Felix's wrist with the side of his spear.

Felix darts back, glaring.

“Point mine?” Dimitri asks, and Felix scoffs.

“I've never understood why he left to begin with. The Alliance is his mess, not ours.” Felix pauses to pick up a thin wooden shield.

“Are Lorenz and Hilda not doing a very effective job?” Dimitri uses the chance to go on the offense, jabbing at Felix's feet and bending his spear just as Felix counterattacks.

“ _You're_ too trusting.” Felix raises his shield and goes in for a quick swipe at Dimiri's midsection. It lands, ripping through the fabric and barely grazing the king's stomach.

Dimitri darts back, wincing. Felix looks less than impressed, but sweat is already stating to roll down both of their foreheads.

There's going to be a welt there later. So be it.

Dimitri pauses, grabbing at the torn part of his shirt to rip the whole thing off.

Felix's eyes widen substantially.

“Are you _mad_?” he tries to say, but his voice lilts upwards as Dimitri shakes his arm free of a sleeve. “Do you want me to impale you?!”

“I would not be against the idea.” Dimitri wipes the sweat off his brow and returns to a defensive position.

Felix's eyes narrow and he lets out a barely-there _growl_. He shoves forward, all his grace gone as he starts batting at Dimitri's spear with his shield. Dimitri lets him, taking each blow in stride as he holds his ground. He takes the moment to swing his leg forward, catching Felix's ankle and knocking him off balance.

Felix goes down and Dimitri follows, trapping Felix between his hips. The swordsman snarls, but Dimitri reaches up, grabbing tight to his Duke's shoulders.

“Yield.” he commands, voice a low, calm rumble.

“You didn't fight _fair_ ,” Felix seethes, slapping at Dimitri's bare arms. “You...”

“ _Yield_ ,” Dimitri repeats, pressing further down, meeting Felix's hips as he tries to thrust upwards and knock his king off of him.

Another growl, and Felix digs his nails in to Dimitri's shoulder, then near his spine. Hissing like a provoked kitten.

“ _Yield_ ,” Dimitri mouths at his forehead, at his lips, towards his neck. Felix isn't trying to bite him – yet, but he's still fighting, as expected.

“Ugh, you're...” Felix growls, grinding their hips again. His fingers settle, just slightly, hands pausing at Dimitri's shoulderblades. “I can't _believe_ you.”

“I did win.” Dimitri moves lower, nosing at a patch of skin that is still covered by that damn vest. “Did I not?” Felix is a little too sweaty, and he can feel the Duke's blood pumping hard, and it takes all of his self control to not tear the damned fabric separating them. “Felix...”

“Take your damn gloves off.” Felix growls, slipping his hands down, down. “If you're going to touch me, you don't...”

Dimitri hesitates, but only briefly. He sits up, eye fixed on Felix, even if his Duke is still not looking directly at him. It's still one of those ingrained things; his own hands are _ugly_ , with burn scars and scratches that will never truly disappear, but...

But it does feel _better_ , touching his Duke's cheek as he leans down for a proper kiss.

“I'm not giving up winning this,” Felix warns as Dimitri begins to undress him, only moving slightly against his waist. “I'm not _done_.”

Dimitri hums, letting his hand drift lower, trace along the bulge of Felix's warm trousers before he unlaces them and stops, tilting his head curiously.

“Your smallclothes...”

“Don't _talk_ , Dimitri.” Felix turns away again, shivering as Dimitri's fingers find their target. And then he curses as one slides in, hesitant and too-hot.

“Ah.. yes...” Dimitri moves slightly as he reaches to pull a tiny vial out of his pocket. Felix _growls_ as he sees it, but he's still pinned down and _squirming_ against Dimitri's finger. “Another?”

“You...” he clenches down, mumbling as Dimitri flicks the vial open and begins coating his fingers in earnest. Another finger pushes in, just as Felix decides to grab onto Dimitri's neck and pull him down, bumping their noses together awkwardly.

Felix kisses like he fights, and Dimitri cannot resist letting out a pleasured hum as he teases and stretches, his own blood pumping louder and louder. Felix undoes him, literally and figuratively, and it's always a struggle; Dimitri remembering _restraint,_ how fragile a thing it always is, or giving into the beast that he knows still lurks inside.

He can feel Felix getting fed up with the _foreplay_ part of it, just by the way he tugs at Dimitri's bared cock.

“Are you...” Dimitri breathes, blinking down at him curiously.

“I told you.” Felix narrows his eyes, impetuous and regal as any royal Dimitri has ever met, “I'm not losing.”

Dimitri does not hold back. He grips Felix's hips, pushing them together as Felix coils his legs tight around his King. The angle is wrong, and he knows he is going too fast, too _hard_ , but Felix doesn't make a single sound of pain or discomfort, merely grunts and low moans that make Dimitri's thoughts scatter into _want_ and _have_ and _mine_.

He lifts Felix up a little more, earns the Duke's hands digging into his forearm for all his trouble. He is close, viciously so, and he rolls them over, Felix's eyes widening briefly before he digs his fingers in more, grinding down on Dimitri as though his life depended on it.

Felix comes with a sharp curse, whole body tightening before hot fluid coats them both. Dimitri grunts, dropping his hands down to the sandy earth as he orgasms, still pushing up against Felix as he winds down.

His Duke flops ungracefully on top of him, his hair a messy sprawl of black against Dimitri's vision.

For a time, the only sound is their loud exhales. Dimitri reaches up, running his fingers from the top of Felix's spine to the bottom, feeling every bump and scar along the way.

“Did you plan this?” Felix murmurs, his voice muffled while his face is pressed against Dimitri's throat.

“A little.” Dimitri noses at him again. Sweat, certainly, but beneath it is the cold, familiar smell that is always _Felix_ and _home_. “You seemed to need some physical activities in between our rather mundane meetings.”

Felix raises his head, blinking indignantly at his King.

“Sometimes fucking is better than talking?” Dimitri offers.

Felix's eyes widen, something horrendous passing through his expression before he growls _“Sothis_ , _I'm_ going to _cut_ Sylvain.”

“Please do not.”

“He's teaching you _filth_.”

“It was Hilda, actually.” They are both in desperate need of a bath, and the sun is beginning to turn orange-red as it sets. Perhaps he and Felix can walk along the shoreline much later, unassailed by nobles. He has always wanted to see what the nightlife in Derdriu is truly like.

“She can live.” Even the famed Right Hand of the King lives in fear of Hilda's brother, it would seem. Dimitri chuckles quietly, careful not to jostle Felix as he stands up to try and make himself more presentable. His pants aren't entirely rumpled, and his tunic and vest will do well enough for the time being.

Felix, comparatively, is already dozing comfortably, his black hair beautiful against the white earth. He is truly a blessing, and Dimitri is loathe to disturb him.

Still...

“Ugh. You don't need to carry me.” Felix gripes, only half-opening his eyes. “I can walk, Brute.”

“My apologies.” Felix lets himself be carried though, looking far more relaxed and calm than he has in days. “I will let the aides know you twisted your ankle during our bout and I am helping you return to your quarters.”

Felix snorts, letting his head drop against Dimitri's shoulder. “You did far more than that _, Dimitri.”_

“I will leave the rest out. Unless...”

“You're unbelievable. Completely _unbelievable_.” He's not-frowning though, and Dimitri takes it as a good sign. “This isn't over. Our match.”

“I would never expect otherwise.”

**Author's Note:**

> So if you've ever watched matches of spears versus swords... spears have a clear advantage 90% of the time. Do not tell Felix this.


End file.
